


In All My Dreams I Drown

by sp12295



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, fallen!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-22
Updated: 2013-06-22
Packaged: 2017-12-15 18:25:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/852654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sp12295/pseuds/sp12295
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally posted on ff.net under gilmorefanforever. Post-S8 oneshot in which Castiel is too afraid to go to sleep. Destiel if you squint, but I don't consider it slash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In All My Dreams I Drown

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Supernatural fic. The title comes from the song of the same name from The Devil's Carnival.

Two weeks after Castiel’s fall, Dean begins to notice the coffee cups. Really notice them. It wasn’t the coffee that was unusual—he had developed a fondness for the beverage even before becoming human—it was the sheer volume of it. He hadn’t noticed at first because Castiel had been sure to make regular trip to keep their kitchen well stocked, including coffee. Sure, he always seemed to have a mug or a cup in his hand, but he and Sam did as well. They are all working hard to find a way to reverse the spell that emptied Heaven of the angels, after all. But the bags under Castiel’s eyes and the way he clings to his coffee like a lifeline tip Dean off that something is wrong.

***

He has known Castiel wasn’t okay for a while. It had been evident the moment they first found him sitting on the ground near their bunker, waiting for them. Sam had greeted him and walked past, nodding to Dean in a way that said I’ll leave you alone. Dean clenched his jaw and walked over to Castiel silently, sitting down on the ground next to him.

Castiel took a deep breath in. “I was deceived.” 

Dean was compelled to respond sarcastically, the way he would if anyone else he knew screwed up like this, less than this, even. But he reminded himself that this wasn’t just anyone. This was Castiel, and he was in pain. So instead he said, “Yeah. I know.” He examined Castiel. There was something different about the way that Castiel held himself. He seemed smaller, in a way, more fragile. Dean supposed he was. “So you’re…” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

Castiel closed his eyes for a moment before opening them slowly. “Yes. I am human.” In a movement that puzzled Dean, Castiel brought his hand to his throat briefly before pulling it away sharply. “My grace is gone.”

Dean had several questions, not the least of which included “How could you let this happen?” and “What can we do to fix it?” Instead he stood up and offered his hand to Castiel. “We have room here. Come inside.”

***

And now, now there is coffee. Endless rushes of caffeine. Castiel has his own room, across the hall from Dean’s own, but he seems loath to use it. This morning, Dean forces himself out of bed at an early hour, when sane men are still deep in the world of dreams, and looks into Castiel’s room. The bed is empty, the covers smooth as if they have never been touched.

With a sigh, Dean walks to the kitchen. The fallen angel is slumped across the table, on a pile of research, a half drunk mug of coffee near his outstretched left hand. He is asleep, but not in a way that looks remotely peaceful. It looks as if his body simply cannot handle being awake any longer.

“Damn it, Cas.” Dean sits in the chair closest to the unconscious Castiel and pulls a file from under his body slowly. Castiel stirs but does not awake, so Dean opens the file and flips through it absentmindedly. It seems irrelevant, just a description of a standard vengeful spirit. It’s a testament to the Men of Letters’ obsessive nature that there is a file on it at all. He can’t begin to imagine why it seemed to keep Castiel up late into the night.

After a while, Dean decides to get up and start making breakfast. He’s digging in their cabinets trying to find ingredients—they’ll need a trip to the store soon—when he hears shallow, restless breathing coming from the other side of the room. Dean walks over to Castiel and watches him for a moment. His face is contorted; even unconscious, he looks terrified. Dean feels like he’s intruding on a private, embarrassing moment, knows that he cannot leave Castiel like this. He reaches out and softly touches Castiel’s arm.

Castiel bolts awake, sending Dean stepping backward in surprise. Castiel glances around the room as if under attack when his gaze settles firmly on the other man in the room. “Dean?”

He tries to be gentle. “Yeah, Cas, it’s just me. Settle down.”

“What time is it?”

“It’s only like seven. Sammy’s still asleep.”

That seems to calm Castiel a little bit. “Oh. I was not asleep long, then.”

“Yeah, I guess not.” Dean tries to lighten the situation with a joking tone. “You look beat, man, like you haven’t slept in days.”

Castiel is silent. Almost guilty.

“You… when was the last time you’ve slept, Cas?” 

There’s a long pause, too long for Dean’s liking, before Castiel murmurs, “Last night, I suppose.”

Dean immediately can tell that’s a lie, not just because the fallen angel has not mastered the art of not telling the truth, but because he has seen how exhausted his friend has looked recently. “Cas, look…”

Castiel stands before Dean can say more. “I’m going to put on a fresh pot, okay?” Dean runs after him and forces himself between his friend and the coffee pot. “Dean, what are you doing?”

“I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t be,” Castiel says, trying to reach around Dean. “There’s no reason for you to be concerned.”

“Cas, you need sleep. Why don’t you head to your room and take a nap? I’ll wake you up in a few hours and—“

“ _No._ ”

Dean is stunned by the harshness in Castiel’s voice, the sudden anger on his face. If Dean didn’t know better, he would think that Castiel’s grace had returned full force and Castiel was moments away from smiting him. Still concerned for his friend, but recognizing a useless fight, Dean steps aside. 

He swallows. “Do we still have those eggs you bought a few days ago?”

In a disturbingly calm voice, Castiel replies, “I would imagine so. Check the refrigerator.”

Dean does so, trying to convince himself that Castiel can take care of himself.

***

Dean spends the rest of the day worried about his friend. He goes to the store around noon, and when he comes back, he finds Castiel in the same spot he left him, absorbed in research. And, for some reason, that makes him angry. Dean has to leave the room before he starts screaming. He runs into Sam in the hall and fails at hiding his irritation.

“Dean, what’s wrong with you?”

“Cas,” Dean whispers harshly. 

Sam raises an eyebrow. “What’s he doing? Did he use your toothbrush again?”

“He’s just sitting there! He’s nose deep is some random file, not looking up or sleeping or…” Dean flails, feeling like he cannot put his concern into a coherent sentence.

“He’s researching, you mean?” Sam seems confused. “Isn’t that what we’ve all been doing?” He glances down the hall towards the kitchen, trying to understand what he’s missing. “Out of all of us, Cas is the one who wants to fix this whole fallen angel business the most, so it makes sense that he’s working to—“

Frustrated, Dean walks into his room and closes the door in the middle of Sam’s sentence. He knows it’s rude, but he can’t take any rational for Castiel’s actions. He wants to try to shove it in Sam’s face that Castiel clearly is doing something incredibly unhealthy. Maybe Sam doesn’t understand because he doesn’t know what Castiel can turn into, he never saw what happens when Castiel became addicted to forcing substances in his bloodstream. 

The thought makes Dean sick enough that he needs to sit. Screw letting Castiel handle himself. He needs to fix this.

***

That night, he puts a plan into action. Sam goes to sleep, and Dean pretends to as well. He waits about an hour and walks back into the kitchen and, sure enough, Castiel is awake, poring over another file. Dean clears his throat, causing Castiel to jump.

“Why aren’t you in bed?” Dean asks accusatively. 

Castiel blinks. “Why aren’t you?”

With a huff, Dean crosses the room and meets Castiel’s gaze. “Don’t be a smartass. Go to bed, Cas.”

The tension in the air is high and, in spite of that, Castiel laughs. Dean’s eyes widen in shock. How dare he laugh! Castiel calms himself and looks back up at Dean. “I’m sorry, is this what it’s like to be a child being scolded by his mother?”

Now Dean is pissed off. “I’m sick of this.” He pulls out a chair harshly and sits on it. He snatches the file Castiel is looking at from him. 

“Dean!” Castiel protests.

It’s another file describing something standard and boring. That only serves to increase Dean’s anger. “What even is this? In what universe is this relevant to anything?” He slams the file back down on the table.

Castiel looks away for a moment. The room is silent except for the sound of heavy breathing. “I have read every file they have mentioning angels six times. I’ve scoured demon possessions. I have no idea what is relevant Dean, but anything could be.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Dean points out. 

“There has to be something!” The anger from earlier with the coffee pot has returned, but this time, Dean matches it.

“You dying of exhaustion isn’t going to send your family back to Heaven, Cas!” He almost feels bad for the way that Castiel’s face falls. He looks like he’s been slapped. Despite the anger still threatening his every sense, Dean softens his demeanor. “Look, man, talk to me. Please, just trust me.”

Castiel stares off, looking anywhere but at Dean. 

“Talk. To. Me.” Dean reaches out and grabs Castiel’s arm. “Treat me like your friend for just a second, Cas!” 

Castiel’s head jerks in Dean’s direction. He has tears in his blue eyes and looks like pain personified. “How do you bear it, Dean?”

“What?” His hand drops from Castiel’s arm.

“How does anyone take it?” Castiel rubs his hand through his hair, making even it even messier. “Every night, just laying there with nothing to do but think until you fall asleep. No way of escaping.”

Dean swallows, unable to think of a helpful response.

“And then the dreams. Before I fell, I knew that nightmares existed, but they’re relentless, Dean. I see my brothers. I see them dead and broken and powerless and I know it’s my fault. I know that I can’t fix it.” Dean wants to comfort him and tell him that they’ll fix this together, but somehow he knows that that won’t help right now. “Every dream makes me feel like something is pushing against my lungs. It’s what I imagine drowning feels like.”

“I understand,” Dean offers him. “I mean… I get nightmares, too.”

“If you understand, then why are you trying to force me to endure that torture? At least this way I can work until I’m too tired to dream. If you’re really my friend, don’t make me do this.” 

At that moment, he thinks Castiel is pathetic. Not in a scornful way. More like a lost puppy. He pities the man in front of him, the angel pushed from Heaven. He wishes he could do more. “Cas… It’s part of being human.”

“Dean,” he begs.

Dean stands up, and Castiel looks hopeful, perhaps thinking that he won this battle. Dean offers his hand. “Look, I’ll sit with you tonight. If you start having a nightmare, I’ll wake you up.”

“Please, no.”

“I promise. I’ll be there, Cas. But you need to go to sleep.” 

Castiel finally lets Dean lead him to his room. He lies on the previously untouched mattress and closes his eyes, asleep almost immediately. 

And for once, Dean is the one to watch over Castiel. He keeps him from drowning tonight.


End file.
